


I'll Stare Death Down For You Until It Flinches

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Arthur, you have to kill me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gatepromise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatepromise/gifts).



> I saw the trailer for 4x06, tilted my head, and went, "huh." From that, I started writing what I *thought* would be a short drabble on a scene I'd like to see happen in the episode. Then 300 words became 600, which ultimately became more than 8,000. This is gifted to gatepromise, because without her first review, this would have never become as long as it did. (No, I never told you that while I was writing it, I know. Now you know.)

“Arthur, you have to kill me.”

  


The stunned silence which followed the sound of his friend’s pained and terrified announcement was louder than the charge of ten thousand men. Over the years, he and Merlin had shared some rather strange conversations – the recent discussions of woodworms in the early hours of the morning came to mind – but his friend had never once indicated that he truly had some sort of mental illness that would lead to suicidal tendencies. 

  
Knowing this, there must be a deeper, more pressing reason that Merlin would demand something like this from him. “What’s wrong, Merlin? What could possibly be so terrible that you would ask something like that of me, now when I need you the most?” And he did. Life as the king of Camelot was just as difficult as he had ever imagined, and he needed his dearest friend to help him find his way, protestations during the almost-war with the people of the grieving Queen Annis aside.

  
Merlin’s body gave an odd spasm, and his face contorted as his breathing grew more and more labored. He looked for all the world as though he were fighting some invisible thing – fighting it, and losing. “While we were separated, Morgana found me. She put a spell on me to make me kill you, and I’ve been trying to resist it since we got back, but I just can’t anymore. So, please, Arthur. Please just kill me. I couldn’t stand it if I knew I was the reason for your death. You are my friend and you are on your way to becoming a truly good king – the greatest king this world will ever know – and I do not want to be the one to put your light out just as you truly begin to shine.” Merlin was in tears as he begged Arthur to end his life, and Arthur searched his mind for a different path, because he would not see his friend die this day.

  
“Alright, Merlin,” Arthur started somewhat shakily, but with that stubborn-minded determination which always drove his friend a bit mad, “here’s what we’re going to do.”

  
“I’m going to tie you up, give you one of the sleeping drafts Gaius has started supplying me with, and go find him. You know that years ago he practiced magic. Perhaps he will know what to do.” He never expected the betrayed look which appeared on Merlin’s face at his words.

  
“I’ll just get free while you’re gone.” Arthur, who had been heading to the cabinet where he kept the various salves and potions often required for a knight, stilled and looked back at his friend, who had fallen – presumably because of the spasms – and was now writhing on the floor. The certainty in his voice shook Arthur’s hope for a solution. He knew that Merlin had a tendency to get himself out of tight situations which bordered on the insane – people just were not that lucky, even if they had big ears and wore ridiculous neckerchiefs and went around handing out sage advice in the moments that seemed the most dire. If Merlin truly believed that whatever spell Morgana had him under could force Merlin to use that ability against his will, then Arthur believed it as well, which meant that he needed to come up with some sort of contingency plan. Something strong. Something reliable. Something like…

  
“I’ll send a servant to fetch Leon and Percival, with the instructions that they are to sit on you if they must, and that they are to keep you in this room by any means necessary.” Merlin gazed at Arthur as steadily as he could, given the spasms and tremors which wracked his thin frame. “Elyan and Gwaine will go and search for Gaius and escort him immediately to my room.”

  
“And… where will you be, in all of this?” his friend sounded suspicious, and Arthur saw no reason to lie.  
“I’ll be right here, watching over you, making sure you don’t do anything rash like fall on the ceremonial dagger you were polishing a few minutes ago.” Merlin, struggling still, made a face at Arthur which demanded ‘Are you MAD?’ Arthur prepared for a verbal tirade the likes of which only Merlin could produce, which was extremely fortunate, considering Merlin was the only one Arthur would tolerate these outbursts from.

  
“What part of ‘I’m enchanted to kill you, Arthur’ – you, not Ilse, the dairy maid, or Gwen, or Frigga, the head cook – did you not understand you… toad-faced curmudgeon ?! Has the weight of that crown finally done what all those head injuries couldn’t and left you completely daft? The last place you need to be is anywhere near me right now, and yet you want to be in here, with me, alone? I don’t know why Morgana even bothered at this point; clearly, you have a death wish.” The exasperated and harried look on his friend’s face should probably not be quite this amusing, given the circumstances, aside from the fact that his concern for Arthur’s well-being truly was touching. However, it was impossible to listen to Merlin rant and not find him funny. But he should really set aside his hilarity to reassure his friend, he supposed. No need for Merlin to panic.

  
“Looking at me right now, do you want to kill me?” Arthur spoke in calm, conversational voice, as though he was discussing the latest reports on the grain stores. He refused to allow Merlin to think even for a second that Arthur feared him. Fearing Merlin was akin to fearing baby rabbits and fledgling birds. Impossible.

  
“Of course not, I would never hurt you! But this spell is so strong, and I just… I don’t know what to do.” He hated hearing his friend sounding so helpless. It was wrong. Merlin may not always be as happy as he was when they were younger – in fact, there were times when it seemed as if he carried the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders, rather than Arthur – but he always had faith that things would work out in the end.

  
“Merlin. In all the years that I have known you, I have never met anyone capable of forcing you to do something you truly do not want to do. Even now, while you are under this spell, I know that I am safe, because out of everyone I know, I trust you the most. So do try to lighten up – this whole maudlin act really doesn’t suit you.”

  
Arthur chose to ignore the scoff of the figure on his bedroom floor and turned back to the task of fetching a sleeping draft. He gave silent thanks that, of all the indignities Merlin would be forced to endure for however long, a disgusting potion was not among them. The little brown liquid actually tasted rather lovely, in Arthur’s opinion – soothing, in a way – and perhaps that would help his friend relax, even if the relief was only marginal. Selecting the correct vial, Arthur approached Merlin and knelt down so that he could lift his head into his lap. The rather tense silence was too good to last, he mused, as Merlin’s mouth opened in what he just knew would be an outpouring of indignation.

  
“Save your breath, Merlin. I don’t really care if treating you like a child wounds your pride; you can’t do anything to help yourself at the moment, so you’re just going to have to suffer through my tender mercies. You should feel grateful, Merlin. It is, after all, not just any man who could claim the privilege of putting his head in my lap.” Arthur battled unholy glee at his friend’s irritation with the need to get Merlin to actually accept the help that he was - not necessarily offering - more like strongly suggesting and then refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer. He meant it when he said that he had never met anyone who could force Merlin to do something against his will, but Arthur tended to believe that, in terms of their friendship, Merlin didn’t know what he wanted until Arthur told him. He had yet to share this theory with the other man, or anyone else of their acquaintance, which meant that it had never been either confirmed or denied. There were times when a man simply had to rely on his own judgment.

  
“Oh, ye –“ Arthur took the opportunity as presented and ran with it, pouring the potion down Merlin’s highly offended throat…. “You are such a brute.” He licked his lips and quirked a quizzical brow… “That is not what Gaius gives me when I can’t sleep. Are you sure you gave me the right draft?” Instead of feeling offended by the rather pointed slight against his intelligence, Arthur found himself fighting a laugh.

  
“Yes, well. When I first started taking them, I asked Gaius the same question. Apparently he’s been holding out on us all these years. According to him, he originally invented this concoction for Morgana when she was a child,” he decided to sail right on past what could be a potentially awkward moment, “but they only helped her for a little while before she needed something stronger. Now he gives it to the knights who come to him when they can’t sleep. He says it puts them out for hours and they keep coming back for it – it’s the only medicine they’ll take from him without complaint.” Merlin was clearly outraged on his and Arthur’s behalf.

  
“I’ve swallowed his regular sleeping draft for years, and I could have been taking that instead? Where is the justice? The family loyalty? And is that really honey I just tasted? Oh, when this is all over, Gaius isn’t going to hear the end of it. Just because I don’t run around waving a sword at people and being all stupidly noble all the time… That is so unfair.” Arthur watched his friend’s eyes beginning to droop and listened to his ranting as it slowly lost its steam.

  
“Hmm. Yes, well Gaius informed me that it is a mixture of chamomile, elderberry, lavender, St. John’s Wart, and honey, so if you really want to take it, you can probably just make it yourself. I think he also puts a bit of belladonna in the stronger doses, but I don’t know if I should be encouraging you to play around with poison right now, given your current suicidal inclinations.”

  
“’M not… suici…” The soft sound of Merlin’s snores met Arthur’s ears, and he gently picked up his friend – who actually weighed quite a bit, in spite of his lanky frame – and deposited him on his bed. That done, he headed for the main entrance to his chambers and called out to a servant passing by with freshly laundered linens in her arms.

  
“I understand that you’re busy, but I need you to go to the knight’s quarters and find Sirs Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan. Tell Gwaine and Elyan to find Gaius and escort him here on a matter of urgency, and send Leon and Percival here immediately. Tell them… Tell them that Merlin needs them.” There. That sounded important enough to inspire haste, yet vague enough to not raise the alarm unnecessarily. The young maid sketched a brief but respectful curtsy.

  
With a soft, “Yes, your Highness”, the girl was off, leaving Arthur to blink in the face of such excellent and unquestioning service. Where once it was all he knew, it now unnerved him. Merlin always had something to say. This total subservience was like a ghost from the time before Merlin’s arrival in Camelot. If nothing else, he needed his friend back to normal so that he could have smart retorts follow his every order and wise words soothing away his every worry. Shaking his head, he walked back into his chambers and sat down in the chair by the fire Merlin had lit earlier while telling him a funny story about one of the nobles and an unfortunate run in with Frigga, the head cook. No one who insulted her cooking, even in passing, slept soundly for long. Apparently the noble now had a terrible case of indigestion that not even Gaius could cure.

  
Thinking about the smile which had not entirely covered to conflict raging in his friend’s eyes throughout the tale, Arthur resolved to find a way to end this spell and ease Merlin’s suffering. He wanted to hear such stories for years to come, and he wanted Merlin to be able to laugh with unbridled mirth and joy as he recounted them.

 

...

  
Sitting by the fire with the reports on the commerce in the lower town, Arthur kept a protective eye on the figure on the bed, and the other on the latest successes and pitfalls of his people. Every once in a while, Merlin would mumble something unintelligible in his sleep and shift around, but he gave no sign of waking. Once or twice, he thought he might have heard his friend call out his name, which always caused him to look up swiftly in concern.

  
The fact that Merlin was moving around at all told Arthur all he needed to know about the state of his emotions; when all was right in Merlin’s world, he slept like a bear hibernating for the winter. Arthur always knew when something was wrong with Merlin, because his sleep became restless, and the mumbling started. He tried very hard not to eavesdrop now, because when Merlin first barreled into his life like a young and overly enthusiastic puppy, his friend had turned Arthur’s face Camelot red with his broken sleep talking (which was actually entirely innocent, but it certainly didn’t _sound_ that way), and since he wanted to be able to actually look the man in the face in the light of day, he decided to allow Merlin to keep his thoughts his own.

  
Arthur was drawn from his silent vigil by a soft yet somehow firm knock at his door. That would be Leon, then, most likely with Percival in tow. Leon had a very distinctive knock; Arthur had known the knight for years, but had never figured out how someone could manage to make even a *knock* sound respectful and dignified. He opened the door and silently ushered the two tall knights – they would be imposing if he didn’t know just how kind and compassionate they both were, and if Percival could manage to look like anything other than the sweetest person on the face of the earth – into his chambers and motioned for them to be quiet. They nodded their understanding, and Arthur chewed his lip, considering how to explain the current situation – he said current, because somehow there always seemed to be *some* sort of situation to deal with, typically with Merlin right in the thick of things. He truly was the unluckiest lucky person in the world. Arthur took a moment to examine the oddity of that thought and then dismissed it as irrelevant.  
“You said that Merlin had need of us, Sire?” Bless the man; Leon always knew how to bring Arthur’s mind back to the task at hand.

  
“Merlin has informed me that Morgana has him under some sort of spell. Until we find a way to break it, he is a danger to himself, and I need the two of you to watch over him and ensure that he cannot do anything reckless. Hopefully, Gaius will know of a way to stop this enchantment before he does anything to harm himself, but I do not wish to take that chance. I know that the two of you are friends with Merlin, and that I can rely on you to look after him until this is all over.” Arthur kept things deliberately vague, hoping against hope that their analytical minds would remain quiet just this once… no such luck.

  
“What is the spell intended to do, Sire? The Lady Morgana might be vengeful, but if she sought to harm Merlin, would it not make sense to simply kill him outright whilst the two were alone?” Leon’s silent reproach of ‘There’s something you’re not telling me’, came through loud and clear. He had trained to be a knight under Leon’s tutelage, and Leon had ingrained in him the belief that a knight must always have as much information about a situation as possible – no knight should ever walk into a fight unprepared.

  
“Yes, well that is a rather… delicate matter. The spell is meant to force Merlin to perform an act which he finds… distasteful, and which I would certainly prefer not to come to pass.” He felt like an errant squire again, trying to explain why he just Could Not walk away from that fight with his foster sister, even though he knew that, ultimately, he would emerge from the conflict wounded in both body and pride, and she would leave the training grounds with little more than a smug smile and slightly wind-blown hair to show for it.The look on Leon’s face was infinitely familiar. It said, ‘You know I would follow you anywhere, but Arthur Pendragon, I know all of your tricks, so if you honestly think you can pull the wool over *my* eyes, you had just better think again.’ Arthur pointedly reminded himself that he had not been twelve years old in quite some time, and that ultimately, the only power Leon now had over him was the force of his brotherly disappointment. Which was still strangely powerful. He squared his shoulders and prepared to handle this with as much grace as possible. Merlin must be kept safe, which meant that Arthur must act like the King he was, not the young boy he had been.

  
His early days on his mind, he opened with, “Morgana has always had a bit of a spiteful streak. She enjoys playing with her victims before she destroys them. Her latest game is particularly malicious, as it is intended to torture both Merlin and myself.” Hopefully, by presenting the spell as something which Morgana cast for her own amusement he would draw attention away from its ultimate purpose. He knew that his men cared about Merlin, but he did not want to risk having any of them perceive his friend as a threat; the only person who Merlin was a risk to was himself.

  
“That does sound like Morgana’s style. How exactly is she playing with you two?” That was it. Arthur would never ask Leon and Percival to work together ever, ever again. Regardless of their impeccable work, their dedication, their even tempers, their bravery, their skill with a variety of weapons, they were simply too perceptive on their own, and it got even worse when they occupied the same room.

  
“Understanding that Merlin has fought this spell for the last five days, which either means it was not as powerful as Morgana thought, or Merlin is just that stubborn – and I would assume it is the latter, considering what Morgana did on Samhain this year – the spell is intended to make Merlin kill me.” The swiftly dawning horror on Leon and Percival’s faces pretty much said it all. Each of his most trusted knights – and Arthur grudgingly included Gwaine in this, the rapscallion – knew how devoted to Arthur the other man was. Time and again, they had seen Merlin throw himself in front of things meant for Arthur, had heard him worry over Arthur’s health, his safety. They knew that he would stop at nothing to keep their young king alive.

  
Into the tense and utterly horrified silence entered Gwaine, followed quickly by Elyan and Gaius. Gwaine surveyed Arthur’s chambers, noting the fitfully slumbering Merlin and the three conscious, anxious men, and raised an eyebrow. Arthur prepared for some sort of insouciant remark intended to dispel some of the discomfort which gave a charged feeling to the air in the room. The rouge knight did not disappoint.

  
“What have you done to Merlin this time, my Queen? Did he come a little too close to stealing your virtue?” Arthur felt his nostrils flair and his lips twitch. He was not going to give Gwaine the satisfaction. He _wasn’t_. “Or is it that he succeeded, and the experience proved too much for him?” Elyan and Gaius, unaware of the severity of the situation, fought to maintain straight faces. Percival and Leon had no such compunctions. Leon let out a slightly hysterical laugh, which was accompanied by Percival’s rather frantic snort.

  
“If only that were the problem! No, Gwaine, debauchery is not what has led us all here. Arthur says that Morgana has placed Merlin under a spell which he has been fighting for the last several days since he got separated from us.” At Leon’s words, Gwaine paused, dropping the careless and disrespectful façade. Arthur knew how much Gwaine cared for Merlin, and his concern came as no surprise. He would do anything for his best friend – had even tried to get along with Lancelot, when the man had been alive, though the two had never seen eye to eye. They both had made the effort, in spite of this, because Merlin cared greatly about them, and wanted the two knights to get along.

  
“I’m guessing this spell isn’t meant to make Merlin fall into a sleep plagued by nightmares, so what exactly does it do?” Arthur gave silent thanks that he knew with utmost certainty how much each man in this room cared about the figure on the bed, who was once again calling out to him in his sleep.

  
“The spell, according to Merlin, is meant to force him to kill me.” Arthur decided to plow on, not giving the others time to react one way or the other. Best to get all of the information out at once, now that everyone was here. “Today while he was working and I was going through reports, he begged me to end his life, in order that he might not end mine. Obviously I would not agree to Merlin’s plan, and so I gave him a sleeping draft to try and give him a chance to rest a bit – he’s looked like death warmed over for the past few days, and clearly has not been sleeping – and called all of you here.” He turned to Gaius, hope and fierce need burning brightly in his chest. “There must be something which can break this spell, Gaius. Surely there is something which can be done. I refuse to lose another person to Morgana’s cruelty.” Gaius appeared grave. Arthur knew how much like a son Merlin was to the physician, and firmly believed that if there was a solution to this, Gaius would leave no stone or leaf unturned, no book unread, until he found it.

  
“I will look into it, Sire, but I fear that there is little that can be done. Ultimately, Merlin may be the only one who can end this enchantment. Such spells depend entirely upon the ability of the caster to dominate the victim’s will. If Merlin has fought the spell this long, it is likely that he will be able to continue to do so, and will eventually be able to overpower Morgana’s magic. For now, I would ask that I be excused to do research on the matter. There may be something in my books after all.” Arthur nodded his approval, too deep in thought to bother speaking his permission aloud. Merlin had indeed been fighting the spell, and doing so admirably, but the strain was obviously taking a toll on his friend, and Arthur wanted – needed – to find a way to ease his friend’s suffering, as well as a way to keep him safe. Merlin constantly put his life on the line for Arthur. It was high time to return the favor.

  
There was an uncomfortable silence following Gaius’ departure. Arthur noticed the knights sneaking would-be surreptitious glances at Merlin, and then drawing their focus back to the little circle they had unintentionally formed during the discussion of their current situation. He took a moment to remind himself that, once this mess had been resolved, and he could turn his attention to far less pressing matters, he really should find a way to recreate the round table in one of the unused halls of the castle. He wanted that physical reminder of the bond which held all of them together, and he knew that great power could be found in symbols; if he began to show subtly his views on the equality of men, then the steps to introduce this philosophy into other areas of the kingdom would be that much easier to take. He felt keenly in that moment the separation from Merlin, even if it was entirely superficial and of his own making. He wanted to be able to discuss his thoughts on the round table and on the new laws he wished to pass, but he knew Merlin was where he needed to be at the moment, and right now that was all that Arthur could ask.

  
The knights began to shift more obviously, and Arthur drew his thoughts back to the matter at hand. Gwaine, bold, fiercely loyal, and willing to walk where angels fear to tread, less out of a sense of duty, and more out of a desire to help out those he held dear, spoke up first. “How exactly are we going to make sure Merlin doesn’t do something stupid trying to protect your queenly arse? We can’t keep him drugged to the gills until we find a solution, and he would hate being babysat for his own good.”

  
“What if… we took him out on a hunt?” Everyone turned toward Percival in unison, with identical expressions demanding to know the state of his sanity. Percival was actually extremely intelligent, and tended to see the world in a way that few others did, so Arthur knew the idea had to have some merit at least, else he would never have entertained it in the first place. However, it was an unusual idea to say the least, given the circumstances, and not everyone had the patience to gradually draw the rationalizations out of Percival during a state of emergency the way that Lancelot always had, and the way that Leon was slowly learning to do as well.

  
“With sharp objects and who knows how many opportunities to run away? Yes, Perce, that sounds like a great idea.” Gwaine had probably never spoken so derisively to Percival in all the time they had known each other, and Arthur could tell by the hurt look on Percival’s face that he tried so hard and failed so spectacularly to hide, that it stung. He supposed allowances could be made because of Gwaine’s worry over Merlin, but Arthur would not let this cause a rift between his best knights.

  
“Gwaine. I appreciate the fact that you care for Merlin; we all do. But that does not give you the right to belittle your fellow knights. Percival, you never suggest a course of action without a sound reason. Why do believe a hunt would help Merlin right now?” Gwaine had the grace to look at least marginally chastened, and he did exchange a glance with Percival which caused both of them to relax, so Arthur decided to consider his intervention successful. No doubt there would be more ruffled feathers to sooth as the day wore on.

  
“Well, if Merlin wakes and sees all of us hovering, it might make him anxious. I think we need to place him in a situation where having all of us present is familiar, that way he can be reminded of what things are like when he is not under the spell. Perhaps the more comfortable we make Merlin, the easier it will be for him to fight the spell.” There was a brief moment of utter silence, which after about an hour of Merlin’s fitful mutterings was quite odd. Then…

  
“Whatever we’re going to do, we need to do it quickly. I think Merlin’s starting to wake up.”

  
Elyan’s warning brought everyone’s eyes back to the figure on the bed, which did in fact seem to be stirring. Arthur looked on in alarm and disbelief. Merlin should not be waking up right now; that draft should have knocked the slender man out for at least another three _hours_ , because it was powerful enough to put down a warhorse. Something else was going on here, something was forcing Merlin to wake before he was ready. If this had been going on ever since the spell was cast, then it was no wonder Merlin had been walking through the castle halls looking like a shadow of his former self – there was no way he had been getting enough sleep at night. Was the spell constantly pushing, urging, driving Merlin on to complete his task, forcing him to forgo any sort of proper rest?

  
As Merlin came closer to waking, a fission of apprehension slithered down Arthur’s spine. Something was wrong. He barely had enough time to shout a warning to the knights to back away from the bed before a force stronger than anything he had ever felt before rushed toward them all, pinning them against different sections of the chamber walls. Merlin, moving faster than Arthur had ever seen him move in all the time he had known the other man, flew at Arthur, wrapping his hands around Arthur’s neck with an intent that was impossible to misjudge. And yet – even as Arthur found himself gasping for air – Arthur could not find it in himself to feel afraid, though he did spare a moment to worry about the knights.

  
“Merlin,” he rasped, “Merlin, wake up! This isn’t you, Merlin. I know you’re in there somewhere.” Through the haze which threatened to overcome his vision, Arthur could see his friend's eyes begin to focus, and watched as Merlin struggled to come back to himself.

  
“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice was groggy and so, so lost. Gasping, Arthur hastened to press his advantage.

  
“It’s me, Merlin, it’s Arthur.”

  
“Arthur, what’s going on?” Later on, Arthur would allow himself the time to regret that sleeping draft, because in spite of the fact that Merlin dearly needed the rest, the resulting disorientation had clearly given Morgana’s spell the opening it needed to go in for the kill – literally – but for now, he simply fought to hold on and help bring Merlin back from the edge.

  
“Merlin, listen to me. I know that things are confusing right now, but I need you to let go. Can you do that for me Merlin? Can you let go? Of course you can. You put up with me day in and day out, you can do anything. Now dig down as deep as you can and find that stubbornness you’re so known for and _let go_.”

  
“Arthur, Arthur, I – I can’t – I _can’t_ ” Merlin was so desperate, and so close, and Arthur finally felt fear but couldn’t focus on it, because everything was Merlin, and that was all that mattered, and suddenly Merlin was just there with Arthur, or maybe Arthur was with Merlin – or maybe they were just with each other, because he was Arthur but he was also Merlin was Arthur and there were memories, _so many_ memories. The first time Merlin had to watch Arthur fight for his life, knowing it was up to him to save the noble, brave, self-sacrificing idiot from his sense of duty; the first time they took down a creature together, fought alongside each other, though Arthur could never know just how much Merlin helped that day; the first time Arthur laid everything on the line to save Merlin, rather than the other way around, and that look they shared that was so many things after it was all over; fearing for Arthur and going to Kilgharrah for a sword that could kill a wraith (his uncle) and then throwing it in the lake; fearing he would have to say goodbye to Arthur and then the joy at finding him as he approached the camp where his mother and his friends slept on the journey to Ealdor; wanting so much to tell Arthur the truth before he revealed it to the world and the fear and then _relief/resignation/resentment_ when he couldn’t; watching Arthur grow in the span of a few days as he fought to save his people from a curse of his own making; preparing to once again sacrifice his life, because this was something Arthur believed in and Arthur could be so much more if given the chance; the terror when he realized that the Questing Beast really had bitten him and the chaos and horror that followed as Merlin tried again and again to put things to rights and then the absolute revulsion at the fact that he could end a person’s life with nothing more than a thought; fondly watching as Arthur tried so hard to make up for his behavior from when Cedric was there; the _shock/disbelief/numbness_ as a troll convinced Uther to rob Arthur of his birthright; the exasperation and gentle amusement at Arthur’s reaction to their almost-hug; sacrificing yet another piece of himself to allow Arthur to hold onto his father a little longer and save him from the self-hatred which would consume him if he actually ended Uther’s life; choosing Arthur over Morgana, because Morgana may be a good friend, but in a choice between his friend and the man who had become his life there was simply no contest; Arthur telling Merlin that they could have been friends if things had been different; worrying over Arthur’s health and his mental state during the seemingly endless (and certainly pointless) search for Morgana; pride in Arthur as he took over for his father in the face of a siege they might not come out of (but they would, because this was Arthur, and no matter what happened, Arthur simply could not lose, because that would mean the end of _everything_ ); devastation at his inability to heal Arthur and tremulous hope when Taliesen offered his help; watching Arthur struggle with the decision to marry Elena; helping to prepare him for the night which would send him on the newest journey to affirm his place as Crown Prince; paralyzing fear over what could happen to Arthur in the Perilous Lands should Merlin not get there in time; heartbreak for Arthur in the face of Morgana’s open betrayal; determination to stay with Arthur no matter what the cost; pride when Arthur accepted this new and fragile reality and began to plan to retake Camelot against all odds; helping Arthur settle into his role as Prince Regent and watching him simply blossom underneath the pressure; the sensation of warmth in spite of the frigid cold hiding together from the Duracha because they are together and that is all that has ever mattered; knowing that it is up to him to heal the veil and knocking Arthur out as gently as possible under the circumstances but then being thwarted; giving everything he had to saving Uther because he knew that was what Arthur wanted – what he needed and the abject horror and desolation at the result of Morgana’s subterfuge; feeling utterly heartbroken and yet so, so proud as Arthur ascended to his rightful place on the throne; the sheer terror watching Arthur fight for his life and for his kingdom in a desperate bid to undo the damage done when he went against his conscience and had Caerleon executed; so many moments and so many emotions, and underneath it all so much _love._ So much _‘hatethishatethishatethis’_ coupled with _‘loveyouloveyouloveyouneverhurtyouloveyou’_ and a fierce need to protect Arthur above everything, because Arthur was his entire existance, his reason for being, and always would be. With no real idea what he was doing, but the overwhelming sense that he needed to do something, Arthur seized on those feelings and tried to tell Merlin with everything he had that Merlin could do this, because after everything he had done, this was just one more thing, just one more hurdle to jump, and Arthur would be right there with him the whole time.

Merlin grasped that reassurance and held onto it like a lifeline, and Arthur could feel it as Merlin gathered his magic and his will and his love to him – everything that revolved around Arthur – and pushed against the stranglehold that Morgana’s spell had on him. It buckled under the force of Merlin’s onslaught like a centuries-old weather-beaten door before a battering ram, and in the wake of the spell’s total annihilation, raised his hands from around Arthur’s neck to cup his face, simultaneously breaking the connection between them.

  


  
For a few seconds, Arthur hardly dared to breathe.

  


  
“Is it gone?” Arthur’s voice was flat with shock, with a lingering note of disbelief, and with a great deal of relief.

  


  
“Yes, Arthur. It’s gone.” The same certainty Arthur heard every time he needed advice, every time he was troubled, was evident now, coupled with an exhausted sense of resignation.

  


  
There were a million different things Arthur should be saying right now. ‘You’re a sorcerer, you can’t be trusted.’ ‘Percival, Leon, escort Merlin to the dungeons.’ ‘You _LIED_ to me!’ ‘Why didn’t you _tell me_?’ ‘How long has this been going on?’ ‘What else do I not know about my best friend?’ But he couldn’t. Because even with the myriad issues they now apparently needed to work through – and it would take work for them to bring their relationship back to where it had been before Morgana decided to play god and ruin it all – Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to distrust Merlin. He had seen first-hand today (had lived right alongside him), and time and again prior to this, just how much Merlin cared about Arthur, cared about the kingdom. Where Morgana had shown signs of growing bitterness and an ever deepening loathing for Uther in the years before she left with Morgause and then betrayed them all, Merlin had always remained staunchly loyal, had always been intensely protective of Arthur and all of their loved ones. He may have hidden a huge part of himself from the world, from Arthur, but there was not an insincere bone in Merlin’s body.

  


  
Athur pulled his friend roughly forward and held on as tightly as he could for a moment, reveling in their shared victory over death – one victory among many, yet no less the sweeter for it.

  


  
After allowing himself to slump against Arthur for a little while, Merlin pulled gently away and turned to look around the chamber at the damage his bespelled mind had wrought with his magic. Arthur heard his friend heave a sigh at the sight of the knights crumpled against the walls. They all appeared mostly unharmed, so that was a mercy; Merlin would have brooded over bringing any sort of harm to their friends for days and it would have been extremely tiring to try and bring him out of his funk.

  


  


Arthur spared a thought to how strange it felt to not really feel strange at all; everything was different now, but yet it was exactly the same. Merlin was his best friend. Merlin was also magic. Merlin was his best friend who was magic. Perhaps if he rolled it around in his mind often enough, the world would start to reflect this new knowledge? At some point, he knew the anger would come, but in this instant, in this tiny bubble of peace in the hectic racing river that their life often seemed to be, he was simply glad they were both alive.

  


  
Merlin had apparently had enough of silence. “Is everyone alright?”

  


  


They all hastened to reassure him.

  


  
“Nothing wounded but my pride, gorgeous.” Gwaine, of course. Arthur would feel jealous if he had not mere moments ago felt incontrovertible proof that Merlin was entirely Arthur’s, and always would be.

  


  
“No worries, Merlin. No blood, no foul. We’re just glad that you and Arthur are alright.” Dear Elyan, always swift to offer reassurance.

  


  
“It would take a lot more than that to hurt me, Merlin.” Percival, ever solid and steady, and kinder than anyone had a right to be.

  


  
“Do not apologize, Merlin. The fault lies not with you, but with the Lady Morgana.” After Leon finished saying this, he looked at Arthur. “Now that we know we are not completely helpless against Morgana’s magic, what are we going to do about her, Sire?” Appreciation for Leon’s ability to adapt almost instantly to any given situation with grace and aplomb briefly overwhelmed Arthur. This was the reason he trusted the other man with his knights, this, and years of serving to protect the people of Camelot together from magical and mundane foes alike.

  


  
“We strike back. We force her out into the open and begin courting any magic users she has yet to make her allies.” Arthur was not oblivious to the looks the others exchanged at this declaration. A scant few hours ago, those words would never have left Arthur’s mouth, but now he said them with absolute certainty.

  


  
“And… how do you intend for us to do that, Arthur? You’re pretty, but that’s hardly going to be enough to sway sorcerers to our cause when even the word magic has been taboo in this kingdom for twenty-five years. We’re going to need something they want, something they believe in enough to fight for, enough to overcome their fear and hatred over what Camelot has meant for them for over two decades.”

  


  
“And we will give them what they need, Gwaine. We’ll tell them…” he stared into Merlin’s eyes and saw that they were on exactly the same page, that they were ready. “We’ll tell them that we have Emrys.”

  


  


...

  


  
Three days after the scene in Arthur’s chambers, he and his closest friends – each save one decked out in hunting gear – inhaled the heady green scent of the forest as they pursued a large boar. Arthur rejoiced in the freedom and the wildness of the hunt as they gave chase. They would have done this sooner, but he had ordered Merlin to spend the two days prior resting. Each time he had ventured down into Gaius’ home to ensure that his friend was, for once, following orders, the elderly physician would spare him a knowing glance and then turn back to his latest project in a pointed show of disinterest.

  


  
During these visits, he and Merlin talked extensively over the events of the past, and the hopes for their future, working to close the distance which stemmed from the revelations of the last few days, their bond emerging all the stronger for it.

  


  
Finally, this morning when he strode into Gaius’ chambers and witnessed Merlin cleaning the leach tank, simply for something physical to do indoors, he had assessed the state of the dark circles under his restless friend’s eyes and declared him fit for an outdoor excursion with him and the knights.

  


  
He watched proudly as Percival made the fateful shot, and joined the rest of the men in patting him on the back in celebration. Arthur noted with a certain amount of satisfaction that Gwaine’s praise was the warmest and loudest. He was clearly trying to make up for his sharp words from the other day, and Percival was basking in it, not like a man who felt he deserved such accolades, but like one who simply soaked in every kind word like a flower and flourished from it. He caught Merlin’s eye from across the fire he had created – with nothing more than a word and some firewood – and saw that he had been observing the same thing. Clearly, Gwaine had confessed about the incident during one of his visits with Merlin over the last few days, and Merlin approved of the man’s efforts to make amends.

  


  
Thinking of fire and Merlin and setting things right, something occurred to Arthur. “Merlin.” His friend’s gaze took on an inquisitive note. “In all the memories I saw, in all the things we’ve discussed over the last few days, we never actually talked about what happened with the Dragon.” Merlin began to shift in what Arthur recognized as his version of evasive and nervous. “Merlin? What are you not telling me?” More silence. “ _Did I_ , or did I _not_ , kill that dragon? What exactly is the current dragon population?”

  


  
Just then, a great roar sounded in the clearing, and a large, graceful creature, all green scales and sinewy limbs alighted before the incredulous hunting party. The dragon – for that was certainly what it was – opened its mouth, revealing a set of razor sharp teeth in what was clearly a grin.

  


  
The others watched incredulously as Merlin, rather than staying very, very still as any sane person would, rose from his seat by the fire and bowed. “Greating, young Lord and Dragon Namer. I come to thank you for calling forth my son. Four hundred years ago, a man who thought himself wise above all others stole my egg from my nest and hid it in a monument to his vanity. I fled in sorrow from these lands, and from my mate, but not long ago, I felt you call Aithusa into the world, and I knew it was time to return. In thanks, I offer you my pledge that any eggs which I lay will be given into your care, in good faith that you will treat them with the honor and respect that they deserve.”

  


  
“Thank you, my lady, but how do you know I will be here to receive your eggs?” The beautiful new mother laughed kindly and tilted her great head.

  


  
“Is your name not Emrys, young Lord? Have no doubt, little one, that even in the years after we dragons have left this earth, you will remain, and someday, when the world has need of him again, your other half and all of your companions will be with you once more.” In the years to come, when those present would recall this scene in the woods right at the beginning of it all, none would mention the tears which fell unchecked from Merlin’s eyes, even as he smiled. “And now I will take my leave of you, though I am sure I will see you again soon. I am anxious to meet my little hatchling, and to be reunited with my mate once again.”

  


  
“What may I call you, my lady?”

  


  
“I am called Aldys, little Lord.” Aldys turned her honey-colored eyes toward Arthur and nodded regally, “It is an honor to meet you at last, Once and Future King,” and launched into the air, leaving just as swiftly as she came.

  


  
Merlin sighed and shook his head, a curious little smile hovering around his lips as he looked at Arthur. “Three, Sire. There are three.”

  



	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hopeful ending to what could have been a dark tale, but was not.

Feeling more than a little like two school boys running from their tutors, Arthur and Merlin snuck out to take a walk in the royal gardens. The castle was alive with the hustle and bustle of the preparations for a celebratory feast, and the two most important men in the kingdom simply wanted some time to themselves before they needed to be on display for hours on end.

  
Arthur looked over at his closest friend and examined him, from his ageless face to his riotous black curls – his long hair had taken quite a while to get used to, but after spending two years traveling from town to town spreading the word about Camelot’s new stance on magic and a year spent with the druids honing his skills, Merlin had simply stopped keeping track of his appearance, and so for the last two years Arthur had used this as further proof of the fact that Merlin was a complete girl – to his flowing crimson robes -  the ceremonial robes of Camelot’s Court Sorcerer - to the well-worn boots that just barely peeked out under the hem that he insisted on wearing, in spite of the fact that they were now little more than scraps. In a few hours, his alabaster forehead would be adorned with the golden circlet of the Court Sorcerer, the last piece needed to complete the image which Arthur was forced to call majestic, if only in the confines of his mind.

  
“Are you ready?” There was no doubt in his mind that Merlin was ready – had been, in fact, for several years.

  
“And there’s absolutely no way you can simply make a royal announcement and call the whole thing done?” Arthur took a perverse pleasure in his friend’s discomfort. Merlin had spent far too many years working on the fringe of things, never receiving the credit for his efforts. It was high time that the people had the chance to see him for the hero he was, in spite of Merlin’s misgivings.

  
“You know the answer to that already. Why exactly do you think it’s changed from the last twenty times you asked me that exact same question? The people need to see us together as one last sign that magic is welcome in Camelot. Besides. Don’t you want to actually be the one to give the speech that you wrote for once, instead of listening to your words coming out of someone else’s mouth?” Merlin raised a sardonic eyebrow in Arthur’s general direction at this latest dig.

  
“Thank you so much for that, Sire.” Arthur would never understand how Merlin could turn the honorific into an insult, but somehow, he managed. “I had nearly managed to forget that particular detail until just now.”

  
“Always happy to help, Merlin. I did say that, as Court Sorcerer, I would give you everything you need.” Arthur had missed this – had missed them – in the chaos of the last few weeks, as everyone rushed to get things ready. Until yesterday, Merlin had been off on another of his secretive little adventures, ensuring that Morgana and her minions would stay quiet for a time, and Arthur had been in countless meetings with the round table and with the representatives of their recently acquired territories.

  
“Ah, but do you have everything that you need, Arthur? How are things with Gwen?” Arthur contemplated sharing his recent misgivings on his relationship with the queen, but ultimately decided not to cast any shadows on Merlin’s day, reluctant though the warlock may be under the spotlight.

  
“Guinevere is lovely, as always. And what about you, Merlin? Will you ever settle down? Perhaps there’s a nice witch who has caught your eye? Or what about Frigga’s daughter? I understand she has been sending some rather longing looks your way of late.” Merlin simply stared at Arthur, a soft, slightly exasperated look in his eyes.

  
“I was rather under the impression that I was already settled, Arthur.” A few years ago, this would have been the moment where Arthur would crack a joke or attempt to redirect the conversation. Now, he simply sighed and shook his head, giving Merlin a fond, yet slightly wistful look in return. Just then, a familiar figure entered the part of the garden where they walked, coming toward them slowly. Arthur saw a sad smile cross his companion’s face at the slow gait of his aging mentor and reminded himself that it was high time for the wizened physician to retire.

  
“The queen is looking for you both. She says it is almost time for you to meet the people.” In spite of his advanced age, Gaius sounded strong as he addressed them both, and just as disapproving of their disappearing act as he would have been ten years ago, when Merlin first arrived in Camelot carrying nothing more than a few changes of clothes, high hopes for the future, and a million secrets.

  
Arthur turned to his friend and, in a moment reminiscent of one which took place years ago in a tent, said simply, “Merlin?”

  
“Ready.” And together they walked from the gardens, prepared to greet their destiny.

**Author's Note:**

> Why is this labled 'gen'? The reasoning is that, while Merlin and Arthur are in love and consider each other the most important person in their lives, they place their duty to Camelot (and later, Albion) above their personal needs and desires, and so never act on these feelings in any tangible way. Arthur does ultimately marry Guinevere, and Merlin chooses to never marry at all.


End file.
